


Sister Sin

by Threepaws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Pregnancy, relationship troubles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threepaws/pseuds/Threepaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've been playing second fiddle to the bottle for a little too long. And I ain't about to any more."</p>
<p>Her comments flaw him. His heartbeat stutters his breathing hitches in his chest.</p>
<p>“What the fuck do you mean Sansa?" He wheezes out, like he’s been winded.</p>
<p>"I'm leaving. Sandor. I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been playing on my mind these last few days after listening to a song called Sister Sin. My fingers itched to type it out. So here you are. It is a bit unpolished but I hope you like it all the same.
> 
> 08/03/16: Edited and polished up chapter 1 in preparation for chapter 2.

Sandor is sat on a bar stool stooped over the dregs of a glass of whiskey and watching the cubes of ice melting and diluting the hard liquor. He gestures to the faceless bar tender for another and resolutely begins nursing the next glass. How many has he had now? Three? Four? His body is numb, but not his mind. His mind keeps travelling back to last night, to when his shit stain of a life got turned upside down...

_He's late, he knows he is, but he always is these days and he isn't too concerned about the fact. A few cross words will be exchanged but she always forgives him. Always. He inhales the smell of roast chicken appreciatively and like the hungry dog that he is, he makes a beeline for the tiny kitchen diner, passing two suitcases crowding the hall._

_His Little bird has her back to him as she stairs into the flickering flames in the hearth._

_"You’re late." She states in a tone laced with hurt._

_"Fuck, Sansa it was one drink."_

_"I doubt that. I asked for you to come straight home and yet here you are, two hours later than when your shift ended."_

_"Fucksakes woman, a men needs to unwind after his shift, it's no big deal."_

_He rolls his eyes as the familiar dance they do begins to play out before him. He can't remember how long it's been that they've played this game… When the itch in his throat cried for the caress of silky smooth liquor, which always became just one more, that’s when._

_Her words cut through his internal ramblings:_

_"It is when I've asked for you to come home. And another thing, do you know how much that hurts when you can't unwind with me, your family."_

_She stares him down, well up in her case but the hurt and anger bubbling beneath the surface of those striking blue eyes of hers makes him feel very small._

_"It was just one drink, Sansa. That's all. I'm here now and of course I want to unwind with you, come here."_

_He pulls her, a little too roughly into his embrace; usually he’s gentler, even when he’s in his cups. She resists and wrinkles her nose in disgust at the fumes of spirits blowing onto her from his hot breath. He slides his hand down to cup her ass and she swats his hand, taking him by surprise. This is where she usually caves and gives in to his wandering hands with a shuddering moan of surrender._

_She inhales deeply before exhaling pinching the bridge of her nose with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. "Lately I've been lying awake every night crying but I guess you haven't noticed that."_

_What the fuck she on about? He always falls into a sated sleep with her. He prides himself on his awareness but it's been a long time since his sleep has been disturbed. She is continuing on with words falling from her mouth and he blearily tries to focus on what she's saying to him, c’mon you dog, focus on the sounds coming out of her pretty perfect pink mouth._

_"I've been playing second fiddle to the bottle for a little too long. And I ain't about to any more."_

_Her comments flaw him. His heartbeat stutters his breathing hitches in his chest._

_“What the fuck do you mean Sansa?" He wheezes out, like he’s been winded._

_"I'm leaving. Sandor. I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore."_

_She gestures to the room. The meal she prepared hours ago set out with her little bird precision all spoilt and congealed on the plate. Tears are pouring down her face and she looks as broken as he feels shattered._

_"Where are you going Little bird?" Is all he can muster, there is not fight in him._

_Part of him isn't surprised. He knew it was only a matter of time before he threw it away. She was always too good for the likes of him._

_"North, to Wintertown. I'm going to stay with my sister for a while, until I find somewhere of my own."_

_His anger flares._

_"The wolf bitch, huh! Bet she put you up to this. Meddling where she shouldn't..."_

_Sansa holds her hand up, glaring at him._

_"Arya has nothing to do with this Sandor. I've just realised I need to care for myself and my future more than I can care for you right now."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?" He huffs confused._

_She steps towards him and reaches up to cradle his face between her long ivory fingers, moving against the burnt and unburnt side of his face in tandem._

_He closes his eyes as the only good thing in his life whispers softly to him._

_"I need to take care of myself Sandor, you will understand, if you care to open your eyes. This does not have to be goodbye." Her voice quavers and cracks as she chokes on a sob._

_Warm tears run down his face and mingle with hers as she places a kiss to his burnt cheek before taking a step back, a long look with shimmering sapphire eyes and with a last squeeze of his hand, that is it. She walks out of the kitchen, into the hallway, grabbing the suitcases, a swift opening and closing of the front door and ultimately walks out of his life._

_His chest is constricted as he takes in the now empty room. He tries to take several deep breaths but never the less his lungs feel starved, his heart a stone lodging up near his throat making it hard to breathe. He strides over to the table and around the congealed mess that was their dinner and his eyes are drawn to a photograph of them taken a year ago, a happier time before the demons came back to dog him._

_Sansa in all her radiant copper haired glory is nestled within his embrace, her back to his chest and his hands possessively holding her hips. How his hands are positioned it almost looks as if there is a heart shape on her abdomen. Both of them are grinning at the camera and he remembers the night like it was yesterday. This was the night he claimed her as his. After all the shit they had been through together escaping the clutches of the Lannisters. The kiss they shared before causing his heart to soar. It was her favourite picture of them, despite the way his scars twisted when he grinned. He picks up the oak frame and holds it to his chest, breathing hard at what he was too stupid to hold onto._

_He sets it down and his knuckles brush a white cardboard box. He tentatively opens it and finds a white stick with two windows on it. Two red lines strike through the window. His heart plummets. She's pregnant. This is why she was peeping and chirping messages at him all day to come home. There was something she needed to tell him. And his stubborn ass and the demons called him to that godforsaken bar. In a moment of insanity he stumbles to the door, slams it open so it rattles and dashes out into the inky darkness of dusk, cold drizzle of rain slapping him in the face. The night is dark and there is nobody about._

_"Sansa!" He screams, "Come back Little bird!" He rumbles to himself. “What have I done?”_

He is jolted back to the present time by the sound of glass smashing, he is stooped lower over the bar and tears blur his vision. A different bar tender is stood opposite him wiping out a tumbler glass. He can see the flex of muscle on strong forearms decorated with tattoos of the seven-pointed star and the Maiden merging into the Mother and Crone on his right sleeve. The Father, Smith and Warrior on his left. He knows from memory the Stranger decorates the back of this familiar man from previous conversations.

"I'm cutting you off, Sandor." He says matter of factly."

"Aye." He slurs out.

"Care to confess your sins?" He asks calmly.

He groans before muttering low in his harsh gravelly voice.

"Fucked up with the Little bird. She's left... Even though she's pregnant. She's upped at left. Said she couldn't do this anymore."

The bar tender lets out a low whistle.

"I'm sorry Sandor... What are you are you going to do?"

Sandor lets out a long huff. "Fuck knows. Lick my wounds and move on I guess." His gut clenches at a future without his Little bird in it.

"Have you heard from her?"

"No. Said she would be heading to the North, to her wolf bitch of a sister in Wintertown, funny thing is I almost think she didn't want to go, to leave."

“How so?” EB enquires.

 

Normally he would tell someone asking personal questions to go bugger himself with a hot poker, but EB is alright. He recounts the exchange to the guy known only as EB. He listens intently whilst continuing to wipe out another glass.

“I wonder what she meant by it not having to be goodbye, Sandor. I think she is trying to protect herself. She's vulnerable and she's pregnant. It sounds like she didn't willfully walk away from you but the pregnancy changes things.”

“How does that make her walk away? Surly she should want to stay, so I can care for her, her and the child.”

“Like you've done so of late?”

Sandor splutters but any comeback dies on his tongue.

“She needs to care for herself, her and your child. Only you can work though your demons with the liquor. So. What are you going to do?”

"I need her back in my life EB. I need her, need our unborn child, if she hasn't already gotten rid of it..."

The thought of her terminating something they've made twists his gut and sickens him to the core.

"And how are you going to do that?" EB asks.

"I need to stop this." He gestures to himself and the empty glass of bourbon sat before him.

"It's going to be a long hard road ahead Sandor. I will be with you every step of the way. If you wish it."

"Aye, think I'll need all the help I can get."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading, I just wanted to make you all aware that abortion is mentioned in this chapter. It is another angsty one and I don't want to upset anybody that may find the topic of abortion uncomfortable.  
> I'm not sure if 'enjoy' is the right sentiment but here is chapter 2!

“Arya!” Her voice breaks on the second syllable of her younger sisters name at the indignant shout of shock and horror of what her sister has just said. "I can't believe you've just suggested that."

They are sat in her sister and her boyfriend Gendry’s living room. Her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of lemon and ginger tea, Arya tracing patterns of condensation on a glass of coke. She arrived an hour ago, mascara streaks down her face and all.

"Isn't that why your here? To get rid of it? Why else would you have left him?" Is her younger sisters retort. “How far along are you, anyway?”

"The test says six weeks, and before you say how could I have not noticed sooner, it is not uncommon for my periods to be irregular, especially when I’m stressed.” She shudders from haunted memories gone by before she continues. “When I was with the Lannisters I didn’t bleed for 3 moons once.”

“A lot could still happen in six more weeks, San. You could still terminate it and tell him you lost it.”

“I can’t believe you’re suggesting an abortion, Arya. It's not an it, it's a baby." She murmurs, her hand unconsciously smoothing over the flat of her lower abdomen…and no that's not why I'm here. I-I needed to get away. It would have done neither of us any good if I'd stayed." She responds, trying to hold back a sob, her mind going back to that night.

How she managed the twelve-hour journey north is beyond her. More often than not her vision was blurred by warm hot tears threatening to fall. Eventually she had to pull over at a service station and fall into an uncomfortable slumber before continuing her journey.

She still can't believe she left him, but she had to take herself and their unborn baby out of the toxic spiral their relationship was becoming.

_She recognised the signs immediately. The old memories of his harsh tone and cutting comments edged with the tinge of alcohol as the Lannister Dog. He frightened her back then, so much so that she was afraid to look him in the eye, not for what he believed – his scars - but for the anger and hate burning within his gaze. But as time went on, her courage grew and she managed to chip away at his armour built of fear and hate to find a man who was gruff and kind but just didn't know how to love._

_He protected her when nobody else would and ultimately he pulled her out of the lion’s den and together they flew out of their clutches before the youngest Lannister sibling called time on their exploits of cruelty and shopped the family to the police._

_They built their happiness brick by brick and their love bloomed. Safely ensconced within the little flat they found and two meagre paying jobs, money was tight but they were happy. And oh how they loved. Countless nights wound within each other’s arms, hot demanding kisses and sighs of ecstasy as they gave and received each other’s pleasure. Sometimes their moans of joy would disturb the neighbours who would bang on the paper-thin walls. And how they laughed when that happened._

_It was the death of his brother, by Martell hands that undid him and drove him back to the bottle. He'd always wanted to confront him about his childhood crimes. But that was taken away from him and he felt like he had nothing left, even with her self stood beside him. And how that inadequacy cut her._

_At first she turned a blind eye, she could understand his need for a drink or two when he’d got the news, but then he was coming home intoxicated more often than not so she tried to let him know she was here with him through her body. He was a greedy lover then, taking what he needed to find his release and although he had filled her, he left her feeling hollow, empty and unsatisfied._

_Talking with him was no use, he just flew into a rage and cruel jeers would fall from his twisted lips. So they fell into a cycle of late night arguments. Then she found out she was pregnant. She was a mixture of happiness and despair. They weren’t trying for a baby and neither had they really discussed a family. But she was one part over the moon at this little life they had created growing inside her and one part scared how he would react, especially since he had been so distant and drunk lately._

_She asked him to come straight home; she was fizzing with excitement and apprehension. Cooked his favourite dinner and played over in her mind how she would tell him… Then hours past, ticking by as she restlessly paced their tiny flat. The meal was going cold and spoiling. She was broken. She had been more insistent that he come straight home than any other time and he’d ignored her plea. With tears in her eyes she packed up her contents of their life. She would wait for him to come home and then tell him…_

Pulled back to the present her sister was watching her closely with a narrowed grey gaze.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Sorry Arya, I was distracted.”

“You can stay on the sofa bed here for now, but if you are wanting to keep this baby, we haven’t got the space for you and a newborn. I will help you find somewhere nearby, though.”

“A place to rest my head for now will be great. I am keeping this baby Arya. We will figure something out. Can I be excused? I really need to wash my face.”

“Sure thing, sis.”

Sansa climbed the worn stairs to the bathroom, slipped inside and perched on the side of the bathtub. Arya was right, their two up, two down home barely took herself and Gendry, let alone another adult with a baby on the way. She would head out into Wintertown and see what was available to rent. She’d need to find a job too, her savings wouldn’t sustain her long and really she would need that for the baby.

Sighing she filled up the sink with hot water, using a fresh wash cloth from the little vanity she wiped away a day and night of tears and mascara from her face. Regarding her blood shot shimmering eyes in the mirror above the sink and forced a smile to her lips

I’m a Stark, I can be brave.

Her lips wavered and fresh tears blurred her vision. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she willed the tears to stop…

Moments later her eyes flew wide as she was jolted from her misery by the constant vibration of her mobile phone from her jeans pocket. She fished it out and saw the caller id. With shaking hands she hit the accept button.

“Hello?” Came her watery voice.

“Littlebird, Sansa.” Came his familiar hoarse raspy voice. “Please don’t get rid of the bairn. I can’t lose either of you.”

“I never was going to terminate our child’s life, Sandor.” She whispers. “I just couldn’t continue in the cycle we’ve been in. Not with a baby on the way.” She replies allowing the hurt to seep into her tone.

“I’ll stop San, just please come home. I need you.”

Her heart begged her to return to him, but her mind said to wait.

“I need you sober Sandor, and I can’t be around you until you are. The Seven know I still love you, but I need to care for the baby and I can’t whilst you’re battling your demons.”

“Sansa, I swear that not another drop will pass my lips. Just don’t give up on me, okay?” He pleads, twisting her insides into knots.

“Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the detox begins...

Setting down his phone on the end table by the couch he is sat on, his head is now clutched beneath his hands, the Mother of all headaches raging behind the backs of his eyes. _She’s not coming home._ He could weep and his throat itches for the caress of something stronger than coffee. But he promised her he was done with the booze. He’s not good for much but if he can no longer keep a promise, something he rarely does but always holds more sacred than any vow he might as well end it now.

EB has been and gone, helped him clear out the mess left behind from the night his Littlebird walked out on him as well as pouring his bottles down the sink. The angel on his right praised the turning of a corner; the demons hissed their displeasure at the action.

His heart sank when she told him she wouldn’t be coming home, wouldn’t come back to him. Not until he was sober. At least she wasn’t getting rid of their babe. He never really thought about children, being a father. But knowing of the existence of a bairn within his precious Littlebird’s womb, he would do all he could to protect them and have them back by his side where they belonged, if that meant no more drink then it was a small price to pay to have that. _Shame he didn’t appreciate that until it had flown out of his life._

*

_3 weeks later…_

Gods he felt awful. Awful was the understatement of the century, he probably would’ve had an easier time walking through the Seven Hells than giving up the booze. The sickness and tremors left him weakened, coated in a layer of malodorous sweat, his mouth had a rancid taste of bile now that his stomach was empty of the contents of his supper, yet he continued to heave.

His eyes were screwed shut in the darkness of the living room, his head pounding when he heard keys jangling and the door unlocking, he almost whimpered at the additional noise. He could barely handle the sound of his own breathing, let alone anything else. He forced his eyes to open a crack before tightly closing them again. EB had returned. He was disgusted with how reliant he was on this man, disgusted how he let the booze sink its teeth into him so deep.

He heard the uttering’s of EB moving through the house, finding the chaos of his despair in every room. He’d vomited into the kitchen sink, pots and all when he couldn’t make it to the bathroom but was too exhausted to do anything more about it. The acrid sweetness of his nausea hung in the air and clung to his skin.

He heard the flush of the toilet, and then the sound of the water pipes creaking as the tub was filled. Softly EB approached him and spoke so quietly, even so his soft tones cut through his skull like a hot knife through butter.

“You’re going in the tub Sandor, think you can manage that whilst I clean this place up?”

He jerkily nodded his head. Too scared his skull will crack if he dared to speak. With all the effort he could muster he shakily stands, like a newborn foal and begins the arduous task of shuffling his leaden feet to the bathroom. Peeling away is sweat soaked t-shirt and joggers and boxers which crumple to the floor, before he gets into the tub he catches sight of himself in the damned mirror the little bird insisted was kept in the bathroom. The skin beneath his eyes is darkened and bagged with lack of sleep; a sallow green complexion tinged his sweat shined skin. His eyes are blood shot and there is a smear of putrid saliva, which has dried around his lips. Hurriedly he turns away from the sight of himself and he eases into the warm water, tentatively leaning the hardened plane of his back against the cool porcelain of the tub, he tips his head back and inhales deeply.

For what feels like the millionth time, he wonders how his little bird is doing. It has been nearly three weeks since their last phone call. He’s been too wrapped up in his own misery to call her, but she hasn’t called him and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He hopes to the Gods he doesn’t believe in that she hasn’t changed her mind and gotten rid of the bairn. He doesn’t think he’d cope with that kind of rejection. Not only has she rejected himself, but also to end the life that he’d help make would be the ultimate betrayal for him. His demons say he’d deserve it and might as well drown his sorrows but the little bird on his right peeps at him that Sansa has always been truthful with him and if she said she’d keep the babe, she would do all she could.

Feeling his headache dissipate slightly, he gingerly opens his eyes and looks for a washcloth. He’d be damned to have EB tend to him like he did in the early days. Being washed by a grown man was humiliating; if he can help it he won’t do it again.

When he’s scrubbed the taint of sweat from his skin, he coarsely towels himself dry and finds a fresh hooded sweatshirt and joggers from the rickety chest of drawers in the bedroom, one handle has been pulled off in the previous fit of rage when he was desperately hunting out some concealed liquor.

He finds that EB has scrubbed the house spotless of his rank leavings. The smell of the lemon disinfectant Sansa uses fills his nostrils as he enters the kitchen diner; a mug of steaming tea is on the table along with some rich tea biscuits. Cautiously he inhales the smell of peppermint before he takes a small sip, the hot liquid warming his stomach, he waits for the eventual urge to hurl it back but nothing, so it takes another sip and a bite of one of the proffered biscuits.

“How are you feeling, Sandor?” EB inquires with the soft tone he has adopted around the Hound who nurses his sore head.

“Rough as a badgers arse.” Sandor grates out before taking another sip.

Getting a small amount of sustenance into his belly, which seems willing to stay there helps the pounding in his head recede some. He takes a few more bites of the biscuits before he looks at EB who is watching him whilst he wipes the kitchen surfaces.

“Sit the fuck down.” He rasps, chagrin coluring his harsh tone.

EB pauses in his task and eases into the wooden chair opposite him and continues to watch.

“You, err have my thanks, for all you do. For all you’ve done.” He rumbles out awkwardly.

“You’re quite welcome, Sandor. I know the transition is not easy for you, but trust me when I say you’re handling it quite heroically.”

Sandor snickers at that. “Fuck you on about. I’ve been hurling my guts up all over this flat and begging for mercy. Am as weak as one of Tommen’s kittens.”

“That’s so. But you haven’t had a sip of alcohol for three weeks Sandor. And that is an achievement. You should be proud.” EB states earnestly.

Mumbling half to him self “Aye, told the Littlebird I wouldn’t.”

“It’s good to know you are keeping your promise to her. I fear the road is still long but your determination to remain true is admirable.”

“Not heard from her though ‘ave I?” Sandor’s sentence is coloured with all the worry and uncertainty that plagues every damn hour of the day.

“Perhaps not, but you both need space from each other at the moment. See this time as respite from one another. To give each other time to rest and heal.” EB coaches.

“Fuckin’ hope she’s getting more rest than I.” He mutters, although his comment is sincere. He hopes she is resting and taking care of herself and the bairn. His thoughts darken, taking a turn for the worst, plummeting to a lost little bird with a broken nest, a pearl white egg rolling out and shattering on the floor…

“Hey, hey? Sandor? Where’d you go?” EB’s words cut through the vision/ nightmare along with a firm grasp to his forearm. He stirs with a start and finds his knuckles are white with tension as she clutches his nearly empty mug of tea.

He gulps down a large swallow of the tea before voicing his fears.

“What if it’s too late and she’s lost it from the stress I put her through, EB. I’m not with her and I don’t know what the fuck is going on and it’s fucking killing me.” He snarls which catches on a sob.

“Look Sandor, if something bad had happened I’m sure she would have contacted you. Sansa is a good honest woman. Just giver her, her space.” EB entreats before adding. “Don’t give up, Sandor. One day at a time.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa curses her luck – or lack of – when the mobile phone she was clutching after exiting the estate agents gets jolted out of her possession by an inpatient passerby.

It hits the hard ground and smashes. Hunkering down she retrieves the pieces and places it within her handbag. She hopes Gendry will be able to repair it, she hasn’t got the spare cash to get a new one.

Today has not turned out to be the successful day of getting back on her own two feet that she had hoped. There are no vacancies what so ever in Wintertown and none of the rental prospects will even consider her without any employment. She has managed to register at the health clinic and has been given a small forest worth of leaflets on pregnancy, an appointment made for two more weeks with a midwife and another four weeks at the hospital for a scan.

It is starting to feel real now, more than two red lines on a white stick, her breasts ache and her nipples are so sensitive, the fabric of her bra chafing makes her want to weep. She is starting to feel nauseas now as well. It starts in the early hours of the morning and the sourness sticks with her until after ten in the morning. She cannot stomach any food until then and makes do with lemon and ginger tea until it subsides.

To give Arya and Gendry some space she wanders the bustling town but the darkness and drizzle of a winter storm is setting in and she fears she may have to cut their afternoon short. She spies that ‘Mockingbird books’ is still open and dashes inside with a flurry of cold air chasing her in.

A ‘ding ding’ of a little brass bell above the door announces her presence and she takes in the sight of an ancient looking mahogany desk in front of her, little corridors stacked above head height with books; paperback, hardback, leather-bound. You name it and they seem to have it. Calligraphy style writing indicates which area of the store she is within. No store assistant has come out to greet her and she skims her hand a long the shelves.

She pauses when she gets to the children’s section and scans the different stories. Smiling at the brightly coloured illustrations and some old fabled stories she remembers from her youth. She remembers the stories of Florian and Jonquil like it was yesterday and her mother’s soft cadence as she read to her before she learnt to read the stories herself. Her hands still above a book called ‘Guess how much I love you.’ On the cover is a picture of an adult and baby hare on the cover staring at the moon. She flicks through the book, smiling as involuntary tears prick at her eyes.

“Are you looking for something in particular, a gift perhaps?” A silken soft voice next to her right ear makes her startle.

She inhales the fresh smell of mint and turns to find a thin gentleman in a grey suit, white shirt and green tie, a little silver pin of a mockingbird sat in the centre. His hair is short and he has a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. Grey/green eyes watch her and she feels as if this man doesn’t miss much.

“No, no. Just browsing but this is a beautiful story.” She smiles at the man, however the image of her cradling a newborn with Sandor wrapped around them, book on his lap fills her mind. Gods how she misses him. And now she has no means to contact him.

She doesn’t know what to do for the best. She has no idea what the withdrawal from the alcohol will do to him and whether contacting him is for the best or leaving him to face the demons alone. For now that decision has been taken out of her hands with the pieces of her mobile rattling around in her pocket.

“This is not a library, miss.” If you are not going to purchase then I wish for you to leave this establishment. He comments snippily.

Her smile falters as she looks at the man then past him to the darkened sky. She will have to head back to Arya’s and Gendry’s. Perhaps she can keep herself scarce in the kitchen for a while…

“The Others take me!” an exclamation comes from the back of the shop with a loud crash which makes Sansa and the store owner jump before hurrying further into the depths of the store. They come across a toppled pile of books with a small-wizened old woman. Pale blue eyes and wisps of white hair a little blue book clutched within her frail hands.

“Not again, Old Nan.” This is the second time this week you’ve knocked a display over.

“Well! If you insist on stacking them so high, how do you expect the likes of me to reach them.” She huffs.

“Never mind. Just be more careful next time.” His response is clipped.

“Petyr dearest, be a good lad and help an old lady like myself home with my shopping.” She asks with a twinkle in her eye.

“I regret I cannot, the shop is still open, Old Nan. Bad for business for me to close.”

“I can help you if you would like?” Sansa offers.

The woman – Old Nan – peers at her and gives her a toothless grin. “Why thank you, dearest, follow me.”

Sansa lifts the two bags at the ladies feet and she offers her arm, which the woman holds onto with a surprisingly sturdy grip. Together they walk out of the bookshop and into the night.

Old Nan’s home is on the outskirts of the town and at her insistence Sansa joins her for a cup of tea. The cottage is a fair size but appears small as every surface is covered and cluttered, in the kitchen piles of crockery stacked perilously on the worktops in the kitchen. A coating of dust layers the furniture. She watches Old Nan fumble whilst trying to fill a little metal kettle to place on the stove. Her frail hands tremble. “Allow me.” Sansa jumps up and takes the kettle from her hands and with quick deft movements lights the gas stove and sets the kettle on top.

“Why thank you child.” Old Nan says as she eases into one of the wooden dining chairs. “It’s nice to have some company on a cold evening.”

“Do you live alone?” Sansa inquires.

“Yes, alas my husband passed seven years ago. Been on my own ever since. No children you see. These hands are getting the better of me.” She shakes her hand and frowns at them as if they are a dog that no longer knows its commands. “Now, what brings you to Wintertown? Have you moved here or just visiting?”

The whistle of the kettle strikes up so Sansa moves and fills the teapot, bringing two china cups and a little jug of milk and a pot of sugar on a tray to the table. Setting it down, Sansa retakes her seat whilst the tea stews.

“My sister and her boyfriend live here and I came to stay for a while. I would like to settle here but their home will not be big enough for the fo-three of us and nowhere is employing at the moment.” She sighs dejectedly feeling the stress of her predicament weigh heavily on her shoulders.

“What skills do you have?”

“I use to work in a seamstresses back in Kings Landing, repairing and altering garments, but I can cook and clean, anything really. I just need a chance. Do you know of somewhere that might be suitable?”

“Well I could really do with some help around here, as you can see housekeeping has got away from me recently” she gestures to the cluttered kitchen. “And I have two vacant bedrooms. I don’t have much money to offer mind but you could live here rent free.”

“That is a very kind offer but I don’t know how long I’d be able to help you…” Sansa tails off with a sigh.

“Just because you are with child Sansa Stark doesn’t mean you are useless.” Old Nan states leaving Sansa with her mouth open in shock.

“How do you know I’m pregnant and who I am?”

“Ahhh. Well I have the Sight you see?”

“Really?!” Sansa exclaims with a mix of wonderment and fear.

Old Nan cackles. “No my sweet summer child. I would never forget you. I remember your lady mother with you hand in hand walking into Wintertown. Your brothers used to love my tales of grumpkins, snarks and white walkers. You never liked those stories, you liked the knights and their fair maidens.”

A small flicker of a memory comes to Sansa of the lady in the last house, this house that was the closest one to the Winterfell farm where they lived. Her brothers and Arya used to love visiting to hear her stories but Sansa often preferred to run errands with her mother unless a scary tale kept her up all night.

“I can’t believe your still here Nan.” She murmurs.

“I am dearest and you are most welcome here. I wept at the news of Catelyn and Ned’s death, and your oldest brother Robb’s.”

Tears burn at the back of Sansa’s eyes. “Thank you Nan. I would love to stay and help you. I will come back in the morning to help clean before I move in. But are you sure? In little over 7 moons there will be a babe here too.”

“That is fine my child. Sandor will be welcome too when he is ready.” She answers with a cryptic smile.

***

The next few weeks are a blur of helping clear out the clutter and mess from Old Nan’s home. Gendry comes and helps with some of the heavy lifting but it is mainly Sansa and Old Nan sharing their companionship within the four walls of her cottage. Beneath all of the clutter everything is in surprisingly good condition and with some elbow grease and the fresh smell of a lick of paint here and there it looks as good as new.

She has helped keep the place clean and tidy, along with cooking their meals. She has even repaired some of Old Nan’s dresses and cardigans, which has thrilled the old woman beyond belief.

Sansa is all a jitter of nervous energy as she leaves Old Nan for her scan appointment. Heading to the small clinic she takes a seat in the waiting room trying to think about anything else than her full bladder.

Before long she is sat with her legs up on a hospital examination table. The doctor has asked her various questions and taken a blood sample.

“Is the father meeting you here, Miss Stark?” the doctor inquires.

“N-no, h-he’s working away.” She lies but that doesn’t seem to fool her. Sandor always said she was a terrible liar.

The doctor sniffs and furrows her brow. “Very well, if you would like to unzip your jeans and roll your top up, I will apply some scanning gel to your abdomen, this will be quite cold then I will proceed to scan you.”

Sansa nods her understanding and with shaking hands does as she has been asked. The gel makes her flinch but it soon warms to her body temperature. The room is dimmed and she feels a light pressure from the scanning probe. All is quiet as a grainy image of black and white fills the screen. Moments pass and Sansa feels an anxiety creeping upon her, but before she can say a word the doctor points at a fuzzy object in the centre of the screen.

“There is your baby Miss Stark, can you see that constant flicker there? That’s the baby’s heart beating.”

Sansa exhales the breath she didn’t realise she has been holding as she focuses on the wriggle and movement in the centre of the screen. Tears of joy burn and fall from her eyes. _That’s our baby, I wish Sandor was here to see this._ She smiles at the doctor who gives more information from the measurements and prints off some images of her baby to take away.

“Can I have a copy, for the baby’s father? Please” she asks.

The woman silently prints another copy and with a nod of her head she hands Sansa some tissues to wipe the gel fro her abdomen. Hopping off of the examination bed she thanks the doctor and exits the room, clutching the scan images to her chest and a bright beam of a smile lighting up her features.

It is real she thinks, I’m going to be a mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! They make my day! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one today i'm afraid. Hope you all enjoy all the same! :-)

Sandor is in their bedroom making the bed after his morning shower when he hears the soft slap of post hitting the doormat; from the sounds of it, something quite large. His head is much clearer today and the headaches and tremors have receded almost completely. He still has the constant itch at the back of his throat, which craves the liquor.

It is arranged that he will be meeting EB today for some lunch and in truth he feels quite nervous about leaving the confines of the flat. Here he is safe, there is no booze in the house to tempt him, whereas out there he fears he will succumb to temptation.

Sansa and the babe have been enough to keep him safe from his demons within the flat, but will it be enough out of it?

He hasn’t heard from her in little over six weeks and the fact that when he’s tried to call her mobile the line is just monotone and dead unnerves him. He doesn’t know what to make of it and his demons are having a field day with the possibilities.

_Sansa in the arms of another man, a sweet smile on her lips as her eyes close to submit to his advances._

_Sansa tapping her foot impatiently as she waits for an appointment to end to life within her._

He violently shakes his head to try and physically shake out the corrosive images filling his mind. _EB is right; he needs to get out into some fresh air. It doesn’t do to dwell on something he cannot control. All he can do is do what he promised his Littlebird and try and silence the demons tempting him to have just one more…_

Gritting his teeth he strides purposely down the tiny hallway, picking up the keys sat within a blue glass bowl on the sideboard. He pauses when he sees a pile of post on the doormat, stooping down he grasps the wad of envelopes and flicks through. Tossing aside junk mail and letters addressed to Miss S Stark, he pauses finally on a heavy brown A4 envelope. Turning it over within his grasp his heartbeat stumbles as he takes in the elegant script of his Littlebird. He tears at the envelope leaving jagged scraps of paper at the tops as he pulls out some fine notepaper clipped to a child’s book beneath, with a deep steadying breath he reads…

Dear Sandor,

I hope this letter finds you as well as you possibly can be.

My apologies for not being in contact with you sooner, partly because I thought you could do with the space but also because my mobile phone was knocked from my grasp and broke. I have been unable to fix it or afford a new phone and my phonebook is still in the flat…

_His brow furrows at this comment, hopefully the careless bastard hasn’t hurt her or the babe…_

Finding employment is proving difficult and I have been unable to find a place of my own to rent. However good fortune crossed my path in the form of an elderly woman I knew from childhood. I am now living in her cottage and helping her with her housework and errands. She is most kind and says that I can stay even once the baby is born…

_His breath catches at the mention of their babe…_

I went for my ultrasound scan today, everything is progressing, as it should be with baby Clegane. They estimate he or she will be joining us in July. I cannot express how exciting it was to see our baby on the screen, the heartbeat a fast flutter. I am so excited I cannot put it into words. I only wish you were able to be there with me...

_As do I Sansa, as do I._

… I hope you are doing as well as can be expected Sandor. I miss you so very much and as much as it pains me to be apart from you, I still feel it is for the best. Our baby and I will be here waiting for you when you have fought your demons.

I have enclosed my new address and also a book for you.

Stay strong Sandor, I love you.

Your Littlebird…

Sandor stores the new address into his phone and turns the page over to see the front cover of the storybook; ‘Guess how much I love you.’ His breaths come out ragged as he reads the title and then flicks through each page reading the words and looking at the pictures. As he turns to the last page he feels the air rush from his lungs as if he’s been punched.

Slipped into the last page is a folded over card envelope with the title ‘Wintertown Maternity Centre.’ With shaking hands he opens it and stares longingly at the grainy black and white image held within his fingers. It’s real. More than just two lines on a stick (Which he has kept safe in the top drawer of Sansa’s bedside table.) A baby – their baby. His chest feels two sizes too small for his heart as he tries to breathe around the solid lump.  

He hates that he’s away from them, hates that he brought it on himself with that damnable booze, drinking to excess far to often. The itch in his throat is ignited by the emotion that has risen up from the depths of his being, brought about by this image of the babe he shares with his Sansa, his precious Littlebird. He places the picture in the top pocket of his button down shirt and strides out of the flat, tears glistening in his charcoal eyes

*

Those charcoal eyes stare longingly at the red brick frontage of the storefront in front of him. _He’s got the time, just a quick stop before he meets EB._ His gaze shifts from left to right as he crosses the street. With a shaky breath, he licks his lips and with hands tucked into his jacket pocket, he strides forwards across the quiet road, head turned low and the scan picture burning a hole in the top pocket of his button-down shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, they make my day! :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> I know it has been a while, I lost my flow at the end of the last chapter and it has taken sometime to find it again. You will be pleased to the that the chapter after this one is almost finished and hopefully i'll be able to start posting more frequently now i've found my mojo! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Much love
> 
> Threepaws

It is a rare evening of solitude she has whilst sharing a home with Old Nan that finds Sansa sat at the kitchen table finishing the repairs to a jacket belonging to a friend of Old Nan. Their evening meal dishes are draining on the stone draining board beside the cream farmhouse style sink. Everywhere is spic and span so she is making the most of her free time to catch up on the basket of clothing repairs she has beside her. Sansa has always been very good at sewing and whilst in Kings Landing living with Sandor, she worked as a seamstress in a small boutique, altering dresses for their customers.

Sansa stretches out her back from the prolonged curve of being bent over placing delicate stitches into the jacket she is repairing for a friend of Old Nan. She wiggles her fingers to get rid of the cramp. The house is quiet with Old Nan 'out with the girls,' she has been collected by her friends and are on their way to the theatre to see The War of the Five Kings.

It has been surprisingly easy and low stress moving in with Old Nan and she doesn’t feel like she is live in help, she views the wizened old woman as more of a grandmotherly type figure with a few eccentricities that make Sansa smile. They both enjoy each other’s company and Old Nan is a fountain of knowledge for the old stories of her family and fairy tales alike.

Old Nan was thrilled when she offered to repair and make alterations to her clothes so they fit her better and was very encouraging of Sansa’s thinking out loud murmurings of maybe starting up a little bit of seamstress work. Old Nan spread the news to her friends so here she is now sat with a pile of repairs to do which helps bring in some much needed income for all the baby things she will need.

There is now a slight thickening to her waist when she stands before the mirror and her breasts are larger but unless they know her they wouldn't necessarily think she was pregnant. However for her, seeing the curve and the subtle change her body is gong through makes her smile.

She pictures her baby all snug and tight within her and hopes they are growing ok. She absently runs her hand over the beginnings of her bump and ponders who this little life will favour in appearance.

She hopes be it boy or girl they will have Sandors eyes. How she loves the molten grey gaze, especially when directed at her with love and adoration as it once was, before the demons turned them dark with anger and discontent. She keeps trying to fill her mind with his looks of adoration and the way the skin around his eyes crinkled with mirth, a grey glow lit from within when she did something to amuse him or how they darkened with lust which sent thrums of desire through her body when they we wrapped within each others embrace beneath the sheets and cocooned in their shared warmth. She keeps having to remind herself of those times as it is easier to see the anger and the rage in her minds eye but he wasn't always like that.

Her daydreaming is cut short with three short raps to the front door. She sets aside her sewing and glides down the entry hallway and opens the door. Meeting a cool grey/green gaze in a thin face with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. It is Mr Baelish, the bookshop owner.

“Ah, good evening. I hear there is a seamstress who may be able to with some alterations. Are you the lovely face of the Little bird sewing shop?” He asks smoothly.

“Yes that is I, please come inside, how can I be of service?”

She responds pleasantly making space for him to enter the hallway. She makes her way to the kitchen where she is working with him following closely behind her. Draped over his arms is a suit jacket and trousers.

“Some buttons have come loose from the sleeves and the trousers need re-hemming.”

He hands her the bundle of fabric, which she takes, but he stills her with a slight squeeze to her hand, startled she gazes into his eyes which he returns with calculated wonder.

“You remind me of someone from years gone by, a beautiful woman whom I was very close to, her eyes were the exact shade of yours and your features are the same. Could you be a relation to the beautiful Catelyn Tully?”

“Catelyn Stark was my mother, but her maiden name was Tully.” Sansa responds with a slight catch to her voice. The loss of her parents still grieves her.

“Of course you are, you are a mirror image of her when she was twenty one, we were very close your mother and I, did you know that?”

“N-no, she never mentioned you Mr Baelish.” She moves to take herself out of his grasp, which he reluctantly drops.

“No she probably didn’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate to talk about previous loves with the daughter of her then husband, would it?”

As far as Sansa can think back, her mother never had previous romances before her father. She had said her father was her first and only love. She nods and smiles at the man, not wanting to correct him. Changing the subject she focuses her attention on the required repairs. He gaze drops from her face momentarily and he points t the garments in her grasp.

“I need those repairs done by next weekend, Sansa. Will that be a problem?” Mr Baelish asks.

“No, that will be fine, would you like me to deliver them to the book store?”

“That would be kind of you, then I will take you to the new wine bar that has opened, so we can talk about old times. I am sure you would like to hear of your mother and what she got up to in her youth, and what better way than with a nice chilled bottle of white wine? Hmm?” He purrs almost seductively, sending shivers up her spine.

“That is a very generous of you Mr Baelish, but presently I do not drink wine.”

She unconsciously smoothes the fabric over her slight bump, a reflex that is not lost on Mr Baelish, who smiles at her.

“My congratulations, I didn’t know you were married, least of all expecting…”

“Oh, I’m not married.” She responds with a blush.

Mr. Baelish tuts but maintains his smile; she notices it does not quite reaching his eyes.

“The youth of today, call me old fashioned but I believe a family should begin in wedlock. If you were mine, I’d have you on my arm with a ring claiming you as such.”

Sansa offers a small smile but her thoughts are jumbled and confused. _Is he making a pass at her?_ Her instinct is to get him to leave, and quickly.

“Mr Baelish, I do apologise but I have some more work to do before Old Nan arrives home, please forgive me but I must ask for you to leave.”

His eyes harden as he continues to hold his smile in place.

“Of course sweetling, you must take care of yourself. I will see you by the end of the week with the repairs.”

Before she can stop him he embraces her, placing a closed mouthed kiss to her cheek before departing the room and a call of “I’ll see myself out.”

Suddenly feeling very weary she takes a seat, feeling very confused about the evening.

She’d feel better if Sandor was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, they make my day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to know what Sandor has got up to since his last POV?
> 
> Well here is! Read on!

Sandor sits staring at the glass of bourbon sat before him; in the darkened room of a dingy bar he passed enroute to meeting up with EB. Staring at the amber liquor he is warring with himself, his brain knowing it will harm him, but his heart craving the comfort it will provide.

Sighing, the demons reason with him that just the one glass will be fine, he has a reason to celebrate no less and celebrations need to be toasted.

The itch in his throat can no longer be ignored, so he lifts the glass to his lips and inhales the spice and kick of the potent liquid, he knows it will deliver and soothe the itch when it touches his tongue. The demons rumble in anticipation as he closes his eyes to take the first sip, he can feel the tingle of the spice almost on his lips as his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Then suddenly his mind is filled with bold blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears filling his vision and making him waiver. They are filled with disappointment and seeing that cuts at his heart like a knife. The image pans out to Sansa cradling a bundled babe in her arms, her fiery copper hair tumbles around her Maiden made flesh face that has now transitioned into the body of the Mother bathing her in a reddish glow. He sees pearlescent tears falling from those beautiful eyes that used to be brimming with so much love for him leaving silvery tracks along her cheeks as she turns with their babe and walks away leaving him in darkness and alone.

Opening his eyes he sees the weighty tumbler in his hand, remembering the promise he made to his Little bird he sets it to the dark wood bar, sticky with previously spilt liquor with a loud clank and backs off the bar stool as if he'd been burned, again. The bar tender glances up at him and away in alarm as he exits the darkened bar leaving the bourbon sitting untouched on the bar.

***

“You're late.”

“Aye, I know.”

He slumps into one of the mismatched chairs in an old coffee house opposite EB who is watching him intently. The itch in the back of his throat still burns but has started to recede as he gingerly traces his fingers across the knuckles of his right hand, a nervous gesture EB clocks immediately.

“Where were you then?” EB enquires.

It shames him to admit to his moment of weakness.

“A bar.”

He rumbles now, grey eyes staring at the table, but he cannot miss the look of disappointment in EB's eyes.

“I didn't take a sip as much as I wanted to.”

He hastens to add with a growl.

“I am pleased to hear that, Sandor. What made you change your path?”

In response he reaches into the top pocket of his button down shirt, handing the scan picture across the table to EB with trembling fingers, who's eyes widen and a minuscule lift of his lips graces his features which Sandor tries but fails not to mirror before breaking into a wide grin which twists his scars.

“Sansa has been in touch then.” EB says more statement than question.

“Aye, she has. Phone has broken which explains the lack of conversation.” He rasps. “I had a letter from her, which included this and a book for our babe... I almost broke my promise to her to have a celebratory drink but the image of her walking away with our babe stayed my hand.”

“Sandor, look at me...” Sandor raises his gaze from the faux mosaic tile tabletop and stares into blue/grey gaze. “You should be proud of yourself. I understand how hard it must have been to walk away from your vice. Now let's grab some lunch along with a coffee and a nice slice of cake to celebrate before we part our ways.”

***

As Sandor and EB exit the little coffee house, Sandor feels a bubbling excitement within. He resisted the temptation and the thoughts of what that means for him and his Little bird makes his face twist into a smile once more. As they cross the street he spies the old tattoo studio where he’s had most of his ink work done. He pauses, and then shakes his head at the whimsical notion that has popped into his head and carries on along the street, but his foot falters before he can clear the edge of the shop. He’s had a bonus at work recently since he’s been grafting harder now that his head is clearer. He knows that they need all the money they can get with the little bub on the way but again since he’s stopped drinking, his bank account is looking decidedly healthy, by no means flush but a comfortable income, which again sours his stomach at how much he drank away, making things tight for his Little bird.

Well he resolves, I’ll get something to remind me how important it is to keep walking down this path EB has helped turn him onto. Without a second thought he strides into the studio to discuss his musings with the skilled artist.

***

Hours later he exits the store and feels the endorphins pumping through his veins, along with the tightness of skin over his left pectoral muscle. The fabric of his shirt mildly irritates the aggravated skin covered by the protective film, but he is buzzing from what has been inked there.

Striding further from the studio, he stops at a local stationary chain to pick up some paper and envelopes so he can write to his Little bird and before he knows it he has exited the shop and entered a baby store where he now is standing bewildered in an aisle full of baby accessories.

_How much could a bairn possibly need? And by the gods it’s all so expensive!_

He feels a little sheepish at what he has just set down for the ink on his chest but he cannot regret it, that ink will take him one step closer to his Sansa and the bairn. Keep him away from the temptation of the booze.

He resolves to write to his Little bird and enclose a cheque to help her stay comfortable until he can get to her. He is now standing in an aisle full of brightly coloured toys, each one toting crap about a babe’s development and some shit. He sure as damn can’t remember all this hype when he was a tot, or his little sister for that matter. He remembers the tiny mop of black curls belonging to his little sister, sparking grey eyes and chubby cheeks. Her constantly sticky fingers forever clutched to a brown floppy legged bear. He wonders what their babe will look like and what toy they would favour when his fingers stroke then still on the plush ears of a little black dog toy. One ear crinkles whilst the other one squeaks. He feels his lips lift into smile and takes the damn thing to post up to his Little bird.

The brown-eyed girl wraps up the gift with a frightened expression and all but thrusts it at him. But even this blatant show of fear doesn’t dampen his spirits.

Tomorrow, at work he will look at transfer options to the North so he can be close to his Little bird and get her back in his arms, where she belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, they make my day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this instalment!

“You’re blooming little bird, look at you.”

The distorted raspy voice coming from her old laptop speakers fills her bedroom, she can feel the warmth and love in his voice as well as see it emanating from his steel grey eyes. The slightly pixelated image of Sandor fills her screen during their morning Skype session. He looks proud and his mouth lifts in a half smile, which makes Sansa blush.

“I don’t feel blooming, I feel fat.”

She singsongs back to him with a tinge of lethargy catching in her voice. Sansa is exhausted. And in a moons turn they will be meeting the little life growing inside her, and the best news is that Sandor is on his way North today! She is so proud that he has abstained from drinking since she left him and all the heartache has been worth it. There is a determination and resolve in him that she hasn’t seen since he decided to leave the Lannisters and take her with him and it makes her heart swell. It will take him a few days to get here as he has to stop off in the Riverlands for a training course, but he’s coming and she cannot wait to see him! She’s missed him so much, however she still has so much to do before he arrives and her sore back has kept her awake all night with an aching dull throb.

His grating voice draws her back from her reverie.

“You could never be fat little bird. You’re all strapping Clegane baby bump and I cannot wait to run my hands over you and take care of you like I should have from way before I knocked you up.”

His tone turns bitter.

“Oh, hush.” She admonishes. “What matters is you are sober now Sandor and ready to be a daddy to our babe.”

She eases herself onto the bed slowly taking care of her aching back as she settles her self and suppresses a wince. This is nothing new for Sansa, everything aches these days, her feet are swollen and her breasts are rounded heavy globes. Her tall frame has meant most of her baby weight is contained in a neat big bump and her face and bottom are fuller than they used to be. Deep down it doesn’t truly matter to her what she looks like, as she is just proud that the baby within is growing, as they should.

And my goodness does baby Clegane make themselves felt!

The midwife has been happy with her progress but said the baby is large for her frame and she may have to consider a caesarean if the baby gets much bigger. She hopes that won’t be the case but all she wants is for her baby to be healthy.

Grey eyes frown at her with worry.

“You alright Sansa? You’ve been wincing a lot this morning?”

“I’m fine, just tired and sore. Nothing new these days.” She smiles at the frown Sandor where’s.

“That old bird isn’t working you too hard is she?” he asks suspiciously.

“No, not at all. Old Nan is no trouble at all. She is quite self-reliant. Actually Sandor, I best get going. Old Nan has an appointment I need to get her to. I’ll will speak with you later.”

“Alright, Little bird. Take care of yourself. I’ll be there soon and I’ll try and contact you this evening.”

“Ok, Sandor. I love you.”

“Love you too, little bird.”

The calls ends with her staring at sparking grey eyes and a rare lopsided smiled from Sandor, which minimises and the screen goes back to the desktop setting.

Sansa eases herself into a standing position in her bedroom and starts to ponder on the most comfortable outfit to wear today; she decides her black leggings with a navy blue knee length lace dress will do. Despite it being summer in the north, the air still has a cold nip to it so she throws over a slouchy grey woollen cardigan to keep a chill at bay and sits again to ease her swollen feet into soft calf length boots. As she struggles with the zipper her eyes zoom in on the little crib Gendry has made for her. She has embroidered the little cream coloured waffle blankets with grey dogs and then her focus shifts back to the toy Sandor had sent with his letter a few months back. She reaches out for the black plush dog Sandor sent her as a gift for their baby, stroking her finger over the fuzzy ears. She was deeply touched by his gesture as he was never one for trinkets or material possessions and although this gift is for their baby, it signifies a change in him, which makes her heart saw.

Easing up onto her feet, she walks out of her bedroom more waddle than glide now and calls out.

“Nan, are you ready? We need to get you to your doctors appointment.”

Old Nan appears in front of her with her toothless grin and a shaky hand, which grips firmly onto Sansa’s outstretched arm.

“Here I am dear, all ready to go. Now, have you got those repairs for Petyr? How a bookshop owner has so many clothes in need of repair is beyond me. I think he’s quite taken with you my dear.” Old Nan winks.

Sansa visibly shudders, as Nan knows her thoughts on Mr Baelish. Something is decidedly off with him. He is always polite and courteous but the unsmiling eyes and almost the look of acquisition unsettles her. She has politely rebuffed him on many occasions and she would surly of thought that her ever expanding belly carrying another mans babe would be enough of a deterrent but not for this man it seems. His constant reminiscing about her mother is also quite strange, bordering on disturbing; he certainly seems to have been very fond of her.

Sansa forces out a grimace before replying to Nan.

“Yes, I have his repairs. I will drop those into him whilst you’re at your appointment, if you don’t want me to stay…”

“Now Sansa dearest, why would I want you to sit in a room full of sick people whilst you’re carrying a fine babe? You don’t want to be greeting Sandor full of sniffles, do you? He wouldn’t think I’ve done much of a job caring for you.”

Sansa smiles “I think it is I who is meant to be caring for you, is that not so?”

“We take care of each other dearest, now come on before we are late.”

*

The ring-a-ding of the bookshops bell alerts Mr Baelish to Sansa entering the shop. He looks up from a book he is scrutinising and smiles at her, which she politely returns. Her arms are laden with his repairs and he glides from his position by the old writing desk and greets her.

“Sansa sweetling, you look radiant this fine morning, are these my repairs? Thank you for doing them so quickly.”

As quick as a flash he drops a kiss on her forehead and she feels his hand glide across her taut round abdomen that drops when a forceful kick from within makes itself known.

“Well your babe is growing strong by the feel of that kick.” He comments.

“Yes, he or she takes after their father in that manner.” She smiles thinly and her anger simmering at the invasion of her space.

Mr Baelish’s smile freezes at the reference to Sandor. She has never spoken of her love to this man but she has seen the cogs turning as he tries to figure out their relationship.

“I must admit, I worry for you sweetling. This man has been out of your life for so long, do you still know him and will he take care of you and your child?”

“That is none of your concern, sir.” Sansa replies icily, lips set in a thin line.

“I feel I have a duty of care to you, in memory of your late mother. Forgive me if I speak out of turn.” His cool hands envelope hers and his grey-green eyes stare deeply into hers imploring her to believe. “I could give you all the comforts you require and deserve my dear. We could comfort each other.”

“I don’t think I know what you mean, Mr Baelish.” Sansa’s voice wobbles as she fidgets in his surprisingly firm grip on her hands.

“How many times must I tell you to call me Petyr.” His tone turns sharp as he drops her hands and brings his up to grip her shoulders holding her gaze. “And I don’t think you are so naive sweetling. All I ask is you think on it.” He drops a closed mouthed kiss to her cheek and the little downy hairs on her neck raise as she hears him inhale deeply with a sigh.

Stepping out of his grasp she wraps her cardigan around her frame as best she can before exiting the bookstore feeling most unsettled. It has started to drizzle lightly, the cobbled street darkening with black spots of rain as she wanders unseeingly down the high street, her mind a jumble of upset and confusion.

She wonders why Mr Baelish will not leave her alone, she has made no attempt at trying to further a relationship with him and the repairs she does are out of duty. Perhaps she should refuse his business but he pays her well and she needs all the money she can get.

Her baby is a restless churn within and the some of the kicks are forceful enough to steal her breath from her. She stops and leans her back against an archway of stone and smoothes her trembling hands over her bump.

“Hush little one, hush.” She murmurs cooing and circling her hands over the baby.

Eventually the kicks lessen allowing her to breath deeply but leaving her exhausted, she closes her eyes and draws strength from within to carry on her errands when a welcome voice fills her ears. She opens her eyes and looks up into concerned blue eyes and shaggy brown hair glistening with rain droplets.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Gendry asks

“It’s the baby, they are so active today. The kicks are stealing my breath away.”

“Is that normal, San? You aren’t doing too much are you? Whenever I see you, you are flitting back and forth like a little bird on your errands.”

Gendry’s unconscious use of Sandor’s nickname makes her smile.

“I-I think so. I will rest this afternoon once I’ve picked Old Nan up from the doctors surgery.” She replies.

“I will give you a lift home, Arya is in town, I’ll call her to collect Nan from the surgery. You look exhausted.” He replies matter of factly.

“I think you are meant to tell me I’m radiant and the picture of health Gendry.” She needles him with a playful smile, which makes him snort.

“C’mon big sister. Let me get you home.” Gendry wraps his large arm over her narrow shoulders and leads her to where he has parked his van.

Neither of them notices the slim figure studiously watching them from the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, they make my day! :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An itty bitty baby chapter whilst I try and get back into the swing of things with this story...

_Well thank fuck that’s over and done with._ Sandor internally rants to himself as he throws his hulking bulk into one of the hideously patterned seats on the train. Settling himself in and loosening the collar of his shirt, grey tie stuffed into the pocket of his jacket he gazes out of the window watching the blur of vibrant green and blue of the Riverlands countryside as the train speeds north. To his little bird.

The two day training course at the Twins corporation was a pile of tedious bullshit run by weasel faced employees all curiously having the surname, Frey. Their stupid little hats bobbing about nervously as they tried giving lectures on stuff they had no idea about. More than once he huffed under his breath whether or not they new their arses from their elbows and the longer the days went on the more true it seemed. On several occasions he had to correct them on the assembly are their own company’s products. It was laughable how little they knew.

The only joy was talking to his little bird at the end of the day in the cramped cheap hotel room. He’d often ring once he’d showered after a day of grafting. White towel wrapped around his hips, his black hair hanging around his face in thin wet ropes, his grey eyes were often focused on the mirror in front of him as he held the phone up to his good ear. Not to the scars on his face but to the lines of ink now decorating his chest.

However last night she sounded exhausted. She was all hmms and sighs and sounded distant. He wonders if that is normal given how little time is left before their bub is ready to greet the world. The pictures she has sent and their few Skype chats have revealed how large she is with his child and he used to feel smug about it, but now he wonders if it is all too much for her tiny delicate frame. She mentioned the possibility of needing a caesarean the last time and the thought of someone having the slice into his little bird to get their baby out is terrifying. She’s a strong little thing that he knows. She will always power through, chirping pleasantries until she can’t anymore. That fateful night being a prime example.

Well the sooner he gets there, to her; his little bird and their baby, he can put all the shite he put her through to rights. Or so he hopes. His mind is a buzz with all he intends to do to make it right between him and Sansa, he barely registers the blurring countryside filtering passed the window.

Before long the flat terrain of the Riverlands begins to alter and become more mountainous and it won’t be many more stops until Wintertown.

Nearly there, little bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you all enjoyed, even if it was teeny tiny. The next chapter will be bigger! I promise!
> 
> I've been a little distracted from this story with another Sansan one poking me in the back of the head. Keep your eyes out as I will be uploading shortly! :-D
> 
> As always your comments mean to the world to me and are greatly appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am after an extended absence! My sincerest apologies for not updating any of my WIP, but I have had a bit of a typing block, which has been a real I struggle to overcome. Most of my time has been spent writing tiny snippets or staring at a blinking cursor! 
> 
> I am not 100% happy with this chapter offering, but I am hoping it will allow the creativity to come to the forefront of my mind once again!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it all the same.

Sansa awoke with a stretch feeling remarkably well rested for a change. There was the same old dull ache in her lower back but that was nothing new of late. Her heart felt light with a tinge of apprehension, as today Sandor would be arriving. It has been just over seven months since she saw him face to face.

She wraps her dressing grown with a firm tie above her ever-expanding bump and goes to the kitchen to make tea. She pauses at Old Nan’s door and finds her still a bed.

Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil she grabs bowls and a saucepan out of the cupboard adding porridge oats and milk to the pan with a hint of cinnamon for her and Nan to break their fast. She warms some stewed apple with sultanas to put on top of the porridge with some sweet brown sugar. Her stomach rumbles appreciatively at the thought of breakfast.

Today she has some errands to run this before Sandor arrives on the evening train and she would be lying if she didn’t say that she feels nervous. Part of her is overwhelmingly excited to see him and to be tucked into his encompassing embrace, feeling his exhales as he rasps soothingly into her ear. However there is a darkness tainting the happiness. She prays to the old gods and the new that he has been true to his word and abstained from liquor but how will this change in life affect him? Babes are needy and can only communicate through tears. Learning their baby’s wants will be hard but will it be too much for Sandor?

“Are you alright dearest? There is a frown as deep as a valley upon your face?”

Sansa startles as she hadn’t hard Old Nan approach, the withered old lady is several steps behind her in her pastel blue dressing gown, feet bare on the cold stone floor.”

“Nan, where are your slippers? You’ll catch your death barefoot like that!” Sansa exclaims hurrying back to Nan’s bedroom, plucking them up with an awkward bend and returning to the kitchen where Nan has eased into one of the chairs beside the table.

“The Stranger is sorely mistaken if he thinks a little cold will send him to my door.” Nan comments. “Were they hard to find my dear?”

Sansa squats down awkwardly and slips Nan’s chilled feet into the fuzzy protection of her slippers, her breath going out of her with a sharp kick from baby Clegane. She rests herself against Nan’s chair drawing in steady breaths whilst her babe settles within her once more. She feels a gentle hand pat at her bed tousled hair and then steadies on her shoulder with a firm squeeze.

“He’s coming today, isn’t he?” pale blue eyes in a wrinkled face lock onto hers.

“Pardon? Sandor is. Yes, you are right.” She answers for Nan. “That’s probably where the frown came from earlier. I’m a little nervous.” She answers truthfully.

“My dearest it will be fine. He won’t let you down.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asks plaintively. She scolds herself inwardly at wanting to clutch to Nan’s ideals. The arm squeezes tighter on her shoulder making Sansa gasp from the old lady’s surprising strength.

“I know things.” She taps her temple with a wizened finger. “And in this I know you need not worry. So please do not threat my sweet summer child.”

 

She gives Sansa’s shoulder another squeeze before commenting. “I think that porridge will need your attention.”

“Oh shoot.” She mutters and hastens to salvage breakfast.

*

Sansa shifts uncomfortably into a small seat in the bustling café she arranged to meet Arya in for a spot of lunch, her weary arms saddled with bags of groceries. It irks her at how little weight she can carry these days and has to make frequent smaller shopping trips for her and Nan’s needs. Before meeting Arya she decided to start stocking up on Sandor’s favourite food and personal hygiene products. Whilst in the aisle containing men’s shampoo and shower gel she took a quick inhale of Sandor’s preferred shower gel, the familiar clean fresh scent she associates with her love, almost brings her to her knees, sending waves of movement through the muscles of her abdomen. It passes quickly and somewhat embarrassed takes her purchases and exits the shop.

Startling her from her embarrassing reverie, her little sister plops down into the chair opposite her and she is now met with a grey stare, beneath quirked eyebrows.

“How’s it going?” she asks whilst lifting up the menu to scrutinise her lunch options.

“Alright, I guess. I just cannot get comfortable these days.” She answers honestly which is confirmed by baby Clegane’s well-aimed punch or kick to her bladder. “One moment please.” Sansa excuses herself. “If the waitress comes, I’ll have the soup with a cheese scone and a lemonade.” She adds on as she squeezes out of the chair and to the ladies bathroom.

*

The sky has taken on the purple and grey hues of dusk; the sun set an hour ago and the night in the north is fast approaching. Sansa doesn’t usually venture far as it gets dark but she wanted to welcome Sandor off of the evening train. Her lunch with Arya earlier was pleasant but she didn’t eat much, a few spoonfuls of soup and half of the cheese scone, tucking the other in a napkin for Nan before Arya could pilfer it from her plate. Her stomach capacity is small at best these days and accompanied with a roiling stomach full of nerves, she couldn’t stomach any more.

As she walks to the train station, her stomach is full of butterflies with the occasional cramp. She is wrapped snugly in her navy blue trench coat with shining brass buttons, dove grey midi dress with bell sleeves, black leggings and flat black shoes. Her fiery cooper curls have been tamed into a braid, which hangs over her right shoulder. She wanted to make an effort tonight, for Sandor. She hopes he will still find her attractive despite how much she has changed. Mentally she chides herself for this shallow train of thought but so much has changed since they last saw one another. How will both of them feel when they see each other again?

She smiles at Nan’s assurances that she has nothing to fear, bright eyes that brook no argument in her wrinkled face. She makes her way steadily to the train station, cars whipping past speedily on their designated paths when her breath is stolen from her. Forceful cramps like none she has experienced assault her stomach, her blue eyes widen as she tries to breathe through the pain her hand reaches out to steady herself on the brick wall of a shop building. She feels the bite and sting of her knuckles scraping against the abrasive surface but the pain doesn’t register as the waves of tightening muscles continue.

Eventually they subside and she is able to relinquish her hold on the wall. Her brow feels hot from the exertion and suddenly she feels incredibly vulnerable. _It’s too soon, you can’t come today._ She thinks, _pleads_ internally but clearly her baby is having other ideas as moments later another wave of what she realises now must be contractions steals her breath once more. She fumbles for her phone, checking the time – Sandor’s train doesn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes. She clicks his icon and it rings, two times, three times, four times before he picks up.

“Little bird?”

“S-Sandor, our baby is…arghh coming.” She manages to get out around another contraction.

“What was that San? Signals shite. Did you say something about the babe?”

“Coming. Sandor. Baby is coming.” She pants.

But the connection is lost.

She wraps her arms around herself and breaths deeply, desperately trying to stay calm until all calmness evaporates as she feels warmth spreading uncontrollably from her woman’s place.

She’s frightened now, she is all alone and Sandor is near yet so far away from her, her hands a tremble as she contemplates her options. This baby is coming and she really wants to deliver the baby in the safety of the hospital. She is lost in her worry when a car slows to a stop beside her.

“S’up sis?”

It is just two kind of words but they slow her heartbeat from the clatter it once was. Arya is sat in the passenger seat, window down with Gendry peering through from the drivers side.

“Arya, the baby’s coming, my water has just broke.”

Her little sisters and her boyfriend’s eyes widen in shock.

“Fuck.” He sister utters.

_Where are you Sandor? I need you. Now._

Sansa thinks as another contraction pulls her concentration away as she vaguely heres to car doors slam, another opened and her being eased into the back seat of Gendry’s car.

Then she screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I don't have first hand experience with child delivery so the end of this chapter and most of the next will be based on information of my friends experiences and internet research! 
> 
> Please comment!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm welcome back and lovely comments They truly mean more than you know and has encouraged me to write this chapter speedily and with much enjoyment.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The train grinds to a screaming halt in Wintertown, the penultimate station before The Wall, which is the last point of civilisation before entering the vast Tundra’s north where only the hardiest people settle. For once he is patient, allowing the other passengers to disembark from the hot stuffy confines of the train. Once the aisle between the seats has cleared, he unfolds his long legs from the cramped confines of where he was sat, briefly stretching before stomping off to retrieve his suitcase from the luggage hold and stepping out into the northern dusk.

He stands on the rapidly clearing platform and suppresses a shiver. The temperature drop is noticeable from the heated confines of the train and he zips up his jacket, turning the collar neck up to keep the chill off of his neck. He scans the dusk filled night, looking for a glimmer of red hair signalling the little bird is waiting for him.

He protested that she didn’t have to meet him so late in the day as he knows how weary she has become as the days tick closer to the arrival of their babe. He told her he would be able to travel the short distance to Nan’s cottage and reunite with her their but the little bird showed her talons, snapping at him that she would be at the station to greet him. The uncharacteristic show of stubbornness from his gentle little bird shocked him and ended the debate before it spiralled into an argument. After all he has put her through, he does not want to add any more shit to the heap.

He does another slow sweeping scan of the station to make sure he hasn’t missed her fiery beacon in the darkening night and comes up blank. _Odd_ he muses. He grabs his phone out of his jeans pocket, checking the time his little bird contacted him, which was about fifteen minutes ago. The signal was shite and he couldn’t make out what she had said before a dip in the signal cut their contact short.

He strolls out of the station, effortlessly carrying his suitcase as if it carries air than the meagre contents of his life from King’s Landing and peers out along the street looking for her approach, if perhaps she is running late but draws a blank.

Not wanting to head off to the address of where she is staying if she is on her way, he returns the call to his little bird. And the phone rings, and rings and rings. He’s feeling anxious now as she usually picks up within the second or third ring and its now easily the fifth or sixth. Suddenly the line picks up, but a voice not belonging to his little bird answers in a surly tone.

“Hound?”

“The fuck is this? Where is Sansa?” He growls out.

“It’s her sister, Arya. Sansa is otherwise occupied at the moment, trying to push your watermelon-sized baby out of her fun zone… Ow! Sans don’t squeeze so fucking hard!”

Sandor’s stomach drops like a rock, his babe is coming? And he’s not there, where he should be.

“Fuckin hell, really? Where the bloody hells are you? Tell her I’m coming.” He rumbles out, his voice several octaves higher than usually but still gruffer than most men.

“Yup, really! You’d best hurry if you want to see the show.” She quips. “We are at Wintertown Community Hospital in the maternity wing. Gendry will meet you outside and lead you to the room we are in, gotta go, bye.”

He stares dumbly at his phone at being abruptly cut off, but the sound of panting and the occasional whimper in the background causes him to move. His little bird is labouring away without him. It wasn’t meant to be like this, he is meant to be there, rubbing her back, being her physical and verbal punching bag and all the other shit a couple goes through that unites them with the little life they created nine months ago. Less in the case of their bub who was meant to be tucked up nice and safe for another few weeks. Will that matter? Will their babe be ready for this world?

He strides to a taxi rank, thankfully empty of other customers, he wouldn’t want to start a brawl to get to his little bird, opening and slamming the boot shut and jumping in the back seat so quick the driver nearly shits himself.

Barking out his destination he adds on “Drive like the Stranger is on your ass, my girl needs me!”

Luckily the driver hastens to comply and speeds into the night. Sandor sits rigid in the seat, adrenaline pumping through veins, unable to relax.

_I’m coming for you little bird_

*

Sansa is riding a rollercoaster, both physically and mentally and right now she’s at the bottom of the dip struggling up the incline. Sweat beading on her forehead as she pants her way through another contraction. Grey eyes come into her line of vision but they are not the grey eyes she wants. She needs Sandor here; she cannot do this without him.

She briefly recollects her time on the street before Arya and Gendry happened across her and how afraid and vulnerable she felt. Although she is safe in the delivery suite that vulnerability hasn’t gone away and her scream in fear tries to claw its way out of her throat like it did when Arya bundled her into the car.

The ward is led by midwives, and she has been examined by the tallest woman she has ever met, probably rivalling Sandor in height, with short blonde hair and kind blue eyes, like sapphires. She introduced herself, as Brienne and said she will be supporting Sansa through her delivery. Questions have been answered and she has been changed into the pastel lemon nightie she bought for the occasion. Choosing into for it’s softness and the cute little bows. According to Brienne she hasn’t dilated far enough to start pushing so she just needs to ride the waves of contractions.

Pain relief was offered but that wasn’t part of her birth plan. If she needs it gas and air will be enough she says; now she hopes as they are starting to hurt. She tells herself all she needs is Sandor here… Now!

“Where is he?” she pants to her sister after the latest contraction.

“He’s coming San, he’s off the train and heading straight here. Gendry is waiting for Sandor at the entrance; so he won’t get lost in the warren of corridors, try not to worry. Do you want me to rub your back?”

Sansa grunts in confirmation. If she were in a rational state of mind she’d be appalled at her actions but she isn’t so she can’t care. Cool hands rub circles firmly into her lower back causing a moan of pleasure to escape her. Gods that feels good. Currently she is kneeling on the floor, her elbows bent and pushing into the cushion of the armchair.

Another wave of contractions forces her to groan and dig deep mentally and physically taking it out of the cushion, twisting the fabric so much when the contractions finally abate and she releases the cushions it remains a twisted mess.

Her heart is pounding and suddenly she is no longer comfortable in this position. She shuffles about and frustrated with how slow it takes to get to her feet, she snarls at Arya to help her.

“Alright, up you come San, don’t chew my ear off.” Her little sister responds but the usual surly tone has gone.

When she glances at Arya she can tell her sister is trying to be brave and keep calm but internally she’s struggling, her eyes are wide with worry at her uncharacteristic behaviour. She paces the room back and forth back forth. The room is a pale green, with dimmed lighting to create a calming environment but Sansa is anything but calm.

She cradles her bump and murmurs softly to her babe within. “Hush baby, hush. You need to wait for your daddy, okay?”

Her pleas fall flat as another contraction takes hold and she stumbles and braces herself on the arms of the chair. After the pain has ebbed she has decided, she staggers to the door.

“San, where are you going?” her sister jumps up and grasps her elbow, the tension hampering her exit.

“I’m going to find him, he’s taking too long.” She states with conviction.

“He’s coming, San. Just be patient.” Her sister speaks sharply.

“How can I be patient, when our baby won’t wait for him?” she cries. “Arya let me go!”

She snatches her arm out of her sister’s grasp and makes to exit the room, but hits something solid. The solid thing wraps around her and she looks into a grey stare. The grey stare she needed and her breath hitches in her chest.

“Where the fuck you off to little bird?” he rumbles.

And she smiles, heart soaring. _He’s here! I’m safe, he’s got me_

Then she groans as another contraction envelops her.

*

The taxi driver did as he was bid and made his way to the hospital in good time. _Hopefully fast enough._ He muses as he tosses some notes at him, striding from the taxi with suitcase clutched in hand.

A well-muscled man approaches and queries “Sandor?”

“Aye.” He responds

A relived smile crosses the young mans face. “I’m Gendry, Arya’s boyfriend. This way, she will be pleased to see you.”

He extends his hand and takes Sandor’s suitcase from him before leading the way through bright artificially lit corridors, the burn of disinfectant itching his nose. They pass through double doors into a quieter corridor, passing a nurses station where two ladies in lavender scrubs watch. Gendry approaches them and informs them of Sandor’s arrival, they nod and let them pass.

 

There is a commotion up a head and he can hear voices are raised.

“He’s coming, San. Just be patient.”

“How can I be patient, when our baby won’t wait for him?” she cries. “Arya, let me go!”

His head whips up at the anguished voice of his little bird and he runs, runs to her, runs to block her exit. She’s not looking where she’s going and bumps into him; instinctively he wraps his arms around her shuddering frame.

She gazes up at him and his heart swells at finally being reunited with the woman he loves. He sees the panicked look fade from the beautiful blue depths into a look of relief.

“Where the fuck you off to little bird?” he rumbles, amused at her bid for freedom.

She just smiles at him, a stupid smile as if all the wrongs have been put to right. Then she grimaces and starts to pant. He’s startled by the transformation of pain onto her face and she grips his arms… fucking hard!

“What’s happening?” He yelps.

“Those are contractions, stupid.” Is the surly response from the little bird’s sister. He looks over the tousled red hair of his beloved at hard grey eyes in her sharp angular face. “She’s been having them on and off all day but she hadn’t realised. It was on her way to you that they kicked up a gear. Luckily Gendry and I were passing by when we spotted her.”

“You have my thanks.” He states sincerely.

“Hey.” A soft voice responds from below, he looks down once more to see a tired face smiling at him, with a look of strain around her eyes.”

“Hey yourself.” He rumbles adding on “How about we get you settled, eh?” He steps into her space and she steps back and once again they are confined within the room. Arya retreats to a stool in the corner and watches discreetly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you off the train.” She murmurs against his chest, rubbing her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

“Silly little bird her rumbles. No need to apologise. I think you had other priorities, hum?” he rocks into her and she huffs a laugh.

“I’ve missed you Sandor, I’m so glad you are here.” She chirps.

“Aye, me too, me too.”

He holds her close, taking in her dishelved hair, wisps of red escaping her braid and down her long back to her bare legs and fee. Her body is encased in a modest yet feminine nightgown. Worlds away from the racier garments she sported for him, but he can’t say he desires her more than he does now, not in a sexual way, but in a way of love and admiration for what she is labouring through. He breaks contact when there is a soft rap at the door.

Using this moment to divest his jacket and jumper in the stiflingly warm room, he sees a tall woman enter, she watches him before focusing on his little bird.

“How are we doing, my lady?” she addresses Sansa.

“Better, now that Sandor is here.” She chirps, warming his heart.

“Very good, and the contractions?”

“Still coming.” She smiles

“Right, I’m going to examine you and see how things are progressing. If you want to make yourself comfortable.”

Sandor is shocked when a gloved hand disappears up his little bird’s nightgown but clearly she and her sister are unconcerned and then he mentally kicks himself.

_Where do fucking babes come from? Fool!_

Withdrawing her hand, the tall blond bitch discards her gloves into the yellow bin and addresses Sansa.

“You’re nearly fully dilated and I can feel the babies head. I think we need to get you settled in whichever position you feel most comfortable as we’re soon going to meet your son or daughter.” She smiles at the pair of them.

_Talk about cutting it fine._

Sansa clambers onto the bed with his aid and he pulls a chair beside the metal bed whilst not letting go of her hand. There is stillness in the room as they await what will happen next.

“Where do you want me, San?” a hushed voice interrupts the quiet in the room as Arya makes her forgotten presence known.

She sounds lost to his ears and he looks at Sansa.

“Will Gendry be all right if you stay?” she asks.

Arya nods. “I will let him know, he can check on Nan or grab a coffee.” She skips out the room.

Sandor drops a kiss to his little birds forehead, the slight tang of salt from her sweat tingles his lips.

“You ready for this, babe?” He asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She responds grasping his hand.

There are so many things he wants to say to her; apologies are brimming to his lips, ready to tumble out like a torrent of water, as well as declarations of love but he swallows them down as his little bird’s hand grips his tight, she tosses her head back and forth as if she is trying to distance herself from the pain warring inside her. Her eyes are screwed tight, fine red hued eyebrows drawn close together, a low groan escapes from lips forced closed.

He feels helpless, how can there be nothing he can do for her. He just sits there holding her hand; he leans into her face and murmurs into the delicate shell of her right ear.

“You’re doing just fine, hold my hand and squeeze my brave little bird. I’ve got you.”

Her features lose their strained quality and she eases back into the cushions, softly tracing her thumb over his knuckles. Opening her eyes to stare back at him, he feels he could get lost in those depths.

The moment is interrupted by the little sister entering the room, circling around to sit on Sansa’s opposite side and takes her other hand.

“Gendry has gone to keep Nan company, said something about getting her a chippy tea. Said for us to call when we have need of him.”

Sansa smiles. “That’s kind of him to look after Nan, she’ll like fussing over him.”

Sandor’s stomach growls at the thought of chips but is soon hushed by the next wave of pain trembling through his beloved.

“Oohhhhh!” she moans and sucks in a breath like a hiss. “This really hurts, I feel like I’ve got to push.” She cries, puffing and panting.

“I’ll get Brienne.” Arya hops up and runs to the door shouting for Brienne.

Sandor is terrified. Should he tell her to push or should she wait? He’s got no fucking clue in this.

Thankfully the midwife appears and examines the scene with practiced calm.

“Right Sansa, Arya tells me you’re wanting to push, is that correct?”

Sansa nods and he squeezes her hand.

“Ok, I’ll just examine you and see where we’re at.”

Gloved hands slip underneath the nightgown, hitching the fabric up to her thighs and she peers up to Sansa’s woman’s place.

“You are fully dilated now, Sansa and the babies head has crowned. I think a good few pushes and you will be meeting your little one. Dad, did you want to see?”

The question and calling him ‘Dad’ startles him. He never really considered that until just now, but his role of being a father is imminent. He’s going to be a dad and his son or daughter is going to look for him for guidance, reassurance and protection. He can’t fail them.

He is dumbstruck also at the thought of looking at Sansa being exposed in such away and doesn’t feel like he can stomach it.

“Nah, I’ll stay here.”

He looks to his little bird for confirmation that he’s done the right thing, she just smiles and nods.

“Okay, San. Let’s get this baby out.” Arya encourages.

The next wave of contractions comes and his brave little bird must be in so much pain, her back curves towards her chest and she’s panting and whimpering so hard. The room is filled by encouragements from all sides.

“I’ve got you little bird.”

“You can do this San.”

“You’re doing perfectly Sansa, that’s it push down, down, down and stop and breathe.”

She throws her head against the cushions, red hair plastered to her head and pants hard.

Arya squeezes water out of flannelette and dabs the sweat from her forehead, cheeks and neck.

Sandor rubs little circles on her delicate hand.

Scared blue eyes look at him.

“I can’t do this. It hurts so much. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Her eyes slide shut and he’s scared. He shifts so he is standing over and above her, like a mighty tree shading the inhabitants below and pulls her gently to him.

“Sansa? Sansa, look at me. You can do this. You are strong little bird. Look how far you’ve come without me being here. Not much longer and then you can rest. I’ll take care of you both, San. I swear it. I love you, I love our babe.”

Wide blue eyes regard him and she nods and his heart clenches in his chest. He smiles an unsure smile, a mere twitch of his lips and a screw up of his scars. Then the contractions start up again and the whole ordeal seems to triple in effort, pain and hand crushing on both his and the little wolf bitch’s part.

Brienne has her eyes on the prize and smiles.

“Right Sansa, your babies head is out, one more long push and we’re done.”

The last push feels like it takes an age, Sansa is doubled over and practically growling her efforts to birth their babe. At this moment she is more wolf than bird.

The relief is visible as her whole body crumples to the mattress; red hair plastered everywhere and her whole exposed body glistening with sweat. Brienne brings a red sticky little body, arms flailing up and out from between Sansa’s legs. There is silence for a moment and then a wail screeches out of the lungs of his little one. He gets an eyeful and black hair matted to the babe’s head and long body.

“Congratulations on the birth of your son.” Brienne smiles at the pair.

Sansa has pushed herself up some, tears tracking down her face as she awkwardly unfastens her nightie, exposing her chest and holding her arms out to their babe.

She clings to their son and weeps, he takes his eyes of his family for a moment and looks at Arya who has tears brimming and she’s bighting her lip, hard by the looks of it and all this emotion wells up from his depths.

He drops a kiss onto his little birds forehead and reverently traces his fore finger down his son’s cheek, through the blood and mucous.

“Well done little bird and welcome little one.” He rumbles, his words coming out scratchy from the tears he’s trying to suppress.

“Hey you.” His little bird coos. “Someone was impatient to see their daddy as mush I was to see him again, huh?”

She holds him so close and drops kisses onto his little head, looking up into his eyes, her blue eyes are lit up, tears tracking down her face. But hells she looks so fucking proud, so invincible and strong. She practically glows with the pride of cradling their newborn to her chest.

And his heart explodes, emptying out down his mangled face.

He just stands there, weeping, taking in such a beautiful sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think?
> 
> Please comment!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All,
> 
> Thank you all so much for the warm response in the previous chapters. I hope you like this instalment!
> 
> Much love
> 
> Threepaws

Sansa is resting in the hospital bed. The midwife team have decided to keep them in overnight for observations, as their son didn't arrive until the early hours of the new day. Once they had cleaned her up and placed some sutures - much to Sandor's unease - Arya helped her shower to wash away her labour efforts.

It felt so good to be under the warm spray of water as her sister helped wash her clean. Her body was exhausted, the physical pain of her labour a dull throb. She has never experienced pain like that in her life. She can't believe a person can stand that for so long, and yet she did, and her prize is a beautiful healthy son!

He is enormous! A solid ten pounds. A long body covered in a good layer of fat with all fingers and toes and pronounced to be healthy, pending further checks in the morning when the consultant does the rounds.

Arya left once they were settled, with a long heart-melting stare at her nephew with a promise that she would return with Gendry in the morning to bring them home.

The room is quiet and Sansa is as comfortable as she can be in the hospital bed. Her son is resting on her bare chest. Skin contact is good for forming a bond they say so he is bare too, apart from his nappy. He's had a good feed, it took a few attempts to get him latched on but once he was, he was set! He is now curled contentedly with his cheek resting against her breast; dark hair and long dark eyelashes closed casting little shadows across his round face. His little fist his balled up grasping a tendril of her red hair.

Sandor has returned from the cafeteria, bringing black coffee for him, earl grey tea for her and what snacks they had left so late or early in the day. His tears have finally dried from his burst of emotion. Seeing him stood there, tears freely falling from his face, coursing down burnt and unburnt cheeks alike, his strong jaw wobbling caused a surge of emotion in her too. Holding out her hand to him he grasped it and gathered her into his arms, kneeling beside the bed, foreheads touching as they wept with the wonder of this beautiful boy they created.

She cannot express how it all felt so right. The absence forgotten as he was here now and in her heart of hearts she knows he is a changed man from the one she left behind in Kings Landing.

"How’re doing little bird? Are you comfortable?" He rumbles quietly trying not to disturb their babe.

"I'm alright, sore but it's bearable. He's beautiful isn't he?" She coos.

"Aye, that he is. He was always gonna be though, he came from you." He rumbles reverently.

"He's all you, through and through." She states.

 

They were treated to a wide-eyed stare after he was fed and burped before promptly falling back to sleep. Steel grey eyes just like his dad's shifting to focus between herself and Sandor. Her heart skipped a beat as she always hoped the babe would have his beautiful eyes.

"Let's hope not little bird, hopefully he'll have you nature. Your gentleness and kindness." He mutters darkly.

"You're a good man, Sandor. No- listen to me." She adds as he starts to interrupt her.

"You are a kind man, a gentle man. You were misguided I give you that, but your strength brought you back to me, to us."

"If you say so little bird. I'm not going to fail you. Not again." He states firmly.

"I know you won't, now less of that, we need to decide on what we're going to name this little chap. any ideas?" She murmurs softly.

"Err no little bird. I thought you'd have had it all picked out. Though I put my foot down at Florian." He rasps.

"That's a shame. That was top of my list. I thought Florian Clegane had a nice ring to it." She sighs wistfully, a quirk to her lips.

"Fuck no little bird!" He all but roars in exclamation, dropping his voice towards the end when their son squirms on her chest and scrunches his face up at the harsh sound.

"Sandor! You cannot swear in front of your son!" She admonishes.

"Shit, sorry. Arghh he don't understand a word of it."

"Not yet. He doesn't but still, I expect less cursing from you in the future." She states, brooking no arguments.

"Alright I'll try my best." He responds mollified.

"There is a name that I keep coming back to, what do you think to Luca?" She asks hesitantly.

"Luca... Luca Clegane." He tests the name on his lips whilst staring at their son. "It's fitting."

"I think it has a nice ring to it. I like its meaning too. Bringer of light, which he certainly will do to our lives now that he is here." She smiles fondly at Sandor.

He drops a kiss to hers then their sleeping son’s head

"Luca Clegane it is then."

*

They are home now, well Nan's and the little bird's home. He feels awkward and out of place despite Nan's sparkly eyed greeting. She's not bad, not really. He can see how much she thinks of Sansa and now their son, him too to be fair.

He's watched how she tries to be independent as possible but there are some things she can't do, much to her frustration and he sees how Sansa seamlessly fulfils those roles. They are quite the team really.

He was anxious when the little bird placed his son into the old biddy's arms. Worried that those frail limbs could not support his weight, as he's a big lad. He thinks proudly. But she's stronger than he gave her credit for and held him for an age, until he started fussing for his little bird's teat.

Sansa is helping Nan with something in her bedroom, so it’s just him and his son. He’s reclining in the big rocking chair in their bedroom, with him cradled to his bare chest, as the little bird instructed to help form a bond, one hand is tucked underneath a nappy covered bum and his other hand unconsciously traces parts of his son’s body. A finger stroke along the shell of his ear, or down the oh so soft skin of his arm. He grins when he places his forefinger into his bub’s tiny grasp and he grips with surprising strength.

He’s not long fed and been burped and his warm little body seeps heat into his torso. He never imagined what it would feel like to hold his flesh and blood to him but it is the best feeling in the world.

The reverent wonder is disturbed by his son making a set of squelching noises, the vibrations rippling from his nappy into his open palm, he watches his son’s face change from no expression to being scrunched in concentration. Then the smell hits! His son’s face is contorted into a grimace which must mirror his own. The stench makes him gag!

Standing up and resisting the urge to hold his son at arms length as an ear-piercing shriek is emitted from his boys lungs communicating at his distress at the sure to be mess contained within the nappy. He strides out of their bedroom and into the bathroom wildly staring for the equipment required to tend to his boys needs.

“Is everything all right, Sandor?” he hears his little bird chirrup from the kitchen where she is making a cup of tea.

“Aye, just need to change Luca.” He shouts over the wail from his son. His chubby cheeks are reddened from the exertion of his protest.

“Do you need a hand?” she replies.

“I’ve got it.” He calls back. “I think.” He mutters to himself.

Carefully he lays his son down on the changing mat he located and threw down haphazardly onto the bathroom floor. He has pulled one of the many baskets containing things babe’s need to his side and braces himself for the contents of his son’s nappy.

With thumb and forefingers from both hands he peels the sticky tabs holding the disposable nappy to his son’s waist away and pulls the front of it down to expose the horror within. He regrets the involuntarily jaw drop the sight entailed as he now has a mouthful of the stench.

_How can one so small, solely fed on the milk from his mother produce… THAT?!_ He ponders. Snapping his mouth closed and gritting his teeth, he rolls the shit coated nappy into a bundle trying to contain as much of it as possible and tosses in into the bin. Holding up his son’s legs to expose the smeared yellowy brown bum, he attempts to tackle the mess it with wet wipes. It would seem all he is achieving is making an unholy mess whilst his son screeches at the indignity of having his bare arse waving about in the air!

Finally it seems as if he is winning against the muck although half the contents of the wet wipe container are now littering the floor. In hindsight perhaps bathing him would have been better.

His boy is quiet now and watching him with interest, balled fist being gummed in his mouth. Having his grey watching him is unnerving.

“Alright, pup. You’re clean. Lets get you strapped in,” he rumbles.

Just as he places a fresh nappy underneath his pups bare buttocks a warm yellow stream fountains out of his tiny cock, coating his forearms and his own stomach in piss.

“Seriously?!” he grumbles, as there is a tap at the door.

“You ok in there?” The closed wooden door muffles Sansa’s melodic voice.

His pride wants to say he is fine, but he could curse to the seven hells at what to do next. Swallowing his pride he gruffs out. “Could do with a hand, if you’re free little bird. Think our pup needs a bath, now that he has pis- peed on himself.”

He hears the click of the door catch as she pushes into the tiled space. He reluctantly looks her way and takes in her wide blue eyes surveying the devastation. A little quirk to her lips tells him she’s trying not to laugh.

She focuses her gaze on her son and then on him and her eyes soften with love. Crouching down she starts picking up the soiled wet wipes and places them in the bin. “He has quite a good aim, hasn’t he?” She murmurs whilst tickling Luca’s face fondly which causes him to wiggle and thump his fists onto the padded changing mat and make some more squelching noises – this time from his mouth. He has to admit, that it is quite cute.

Together Sansa shows him how to bathe their pup. From showing him the little plastic bathing container, to the purple hippo shaped temperature monitor to ensure the water isn’t too hot or too cold for their son’s fragile skin. He cradles his head with his enormous hand, his grey eyes watching his little bird’s movements as she cleans their son with a soft cloth.

“How do you know all of this?” he rumbles softly.

“Plenty of reading.” She murmurs, smiling at him.

He is angry with himself that he has done nothing to prepare himself for caring for the bairn. Clearly these emotions are plain on his face.

“Don’t worry Sandor. You’re hear now and we will learn this together.” She squeezes his free hand.

He squeezes back and smiles a tight smile, mentally berating himself for not having thought to do any reading on how to care for babes.

“Okay, he’s all clean now. Lets get him dry and a fresh nappy on him.”

He lifts his son from the bath and she wraps a soft towel around his body, rubbing the moisture away from his skin. He’s cradled his son to his chest and he can feel Sansa’s soft breaths puffing out onto his skin as she continues to dry their son. He head is in line with his pectoral muscles and as he looks down he can see the top of her coppery waves contained into a messy ponytail. He hand stills from her ministrations of drying their son.

“Sandor, what’s this?” she murmurs and he feels the soft pad of her forefinger trace the inked lines decorating the left side of his chest, over his heart. He shifts Luca to the other side of his chest, giving Sansa fill view of the image the lines of ink hinted towards.

“I got it, as a reminder.” He rumbles deeply. “A reminder of what I had and what I could lose if I didn’t give up on the booze.” He states with sincerity, remembering how close he came to throwing it all away.

“Oh, Sandor.” Her voice is thick with emotion as she places her right hand on his chest and stretching up on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss to his twisted lips. Hesitant at first, they meet and hold before moving softly and reverently. This is the first true kiss they have shared since reuniting.

Bathed in the artificial light in the bathroom, one arm cradling their babe whilst his other winds around her waist to hold her close, her one hand touching their babe’s downy head whilst the other covers his heart, and covers the little brown bird sat patiently on her nest, awaiting her mate to return to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment :-D


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